The Invincible Young Master

[A/N: This side story should end in the next few chapters and we should have Spark's appearance soon.]

As the boy's eyes drifted shut, the world around him dissolved, the guard's voice fading into a distant hum. In its place, memories surged like a rushing river, pulling him into their depths.

He was a child again, back in the village, running barefoot across grassy fields bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Her laughter filled the air, light, carefree, and infectious, like the chiming of bells.

They darted through narrow paths between the trees at the forest's edge, their playful chase leaving trails of crushed wildflowers in their wake.

The earth was warm beneath his feet, and the scent of fresh blooms clung to the breeze. They ran until they collapsed together in a heap, their sides heaving with laughter and exertion.

She teased him for tripping over a root, her eyes glinting mischievously. In retaliation, he grabbed a handful of dry leaves and tossed them at her, earning a mock gasp of outrage and a playful shove.

The memory shimmered with painful clarity, too vivid to bear, sharpened by loss.

The scene shifted.

Now he stood amidst the villagers, gathered in a hushed circle. Their faces flickered in the torchlight, shadows dancing across their solemn expressions.

At the center stood his father, his weathered hands clasped tightly as he led them in prayer.

Behind him loomed the forest, its ancient trees towering like silent sentinels.

"Father, why do we pray to the forest?" His young voice broke through the murmurs, curious and unafraid.
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His father paused, the flames casting deep lines across his face. "Because it is not a place for men. The forest holds things… things not meant for us. Ghosts, perhaps."

"Ghosts?" the boy echoed, wide-eyed, the word sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.

His father softened, ruffling his son's hair to chase away the unease. "You wouldn't want to find out, would you? Promise me, stay away from it."

The memory faded like smoke, leaving an ache in its wake.

When he awoke, the rough wooden ceiling of the guardhouse came into focus once again, the faint flicker of a candle casting dancing shadows on the walls.

The air carried a mix of scents, herbs, salves, and the lingering metallic tang of blood.

He sat up slowly, testing his stiff limbs. Pain flared through his body, but it was duller now, tempered by the elixir and rest.

His eyes drifted to the small table beside the bed, where his belongings had been placed.

His old clothes lay in a tattered, bloodied heap. Beside them was a neatly folded set of fresh garments, coarse but clean.

Without hesitation, he reached for the new clothes.

His gaze fell next to his pouch among his belongings on the table. For a moment, he stared at it.

Then he left the pouch untouched.

Quietly, he pushed the door open and stepped into the night.

The city lay shrouded in moonlight, its cobblestone streets glistening faintly under the silver glow.

Shadows stretched long and dark, pooling in corners and alleys, while the tall stone walls loomed like silent guardians.

A short distance away, the two guards from earlier leaned against their posts, their heads nodding forward in sleep. Their faint but steady snores broke the stillness, and their spears rested loosely in their hands.

He paused, his gaze lingering on them.

Then, without saying a word of goodbye, he turned toward the small side door beside the gate, slipping through it silently.

Beyond the gate, the world stretched vast and open under the night sky.

The plains lay before him, their tall grasses rippling like a silver sea in the gentle breeze. The air was crisp, free of the city's smoke and noise, carrying a quiet that felt almost sacred.

He stepped forward, the soft rustle of grass beneath his feet the only sound. The chill of the night seeped into his skin, but he welcomed it.

His gaze lifted to the horizon, where distant hills rose like the edge of a dream, calling him onward.

He glanced back once, the city walls now a shadow against the pale light. There was nothing left for him there, no purpose, no dreams, nothing but the ghost of what he had lost.

He turned back to the open plains.

The decision had been made. He would return to the village.

…

The morning sun rose steadily, brushing the horizon with warm hues of orange and pink, as his steps slowed.

Before him, the familiar sight of his village unfolded, each detail etched into his mind as if he had never left.

The narrow dirt paths wove through patches of wild grass and vibrant flowers, untouched by time.

Towering trees bordered the village, their swaying branches creating a gentle rustling melody.

He stepped onto the path leading into the village's heart, and the air itself felt different, lighter, cleaner, like the embrace of an old friend.

Each step stirred memories, vivid and raw, playing before his mind's eye like a reel.

The sound of children laughing in the distance, the sight of wooden fences patched with care, and smoke curling lazily from the thatched rooftops, it all wrapped around him, a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and ache.

As he neared the first cluster of homes, a villager noticed him. An older woman carrying a basket of vegetables froze mid-step, her eyes widening in shock.

The basket slipped from her hands, spilling leaves and stems onto the ground as she rushed toward him.

"You have returned!" she cried, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and joy.

Her exclamation rippled through the air like a bell tolling, drawing villagers out of their homes.

One by one, they emerged, their faces lighting up with recognition. A growing crowd gathered around him, their voices full of exclamations and questions.

"Did you become an immortal?"

"Can you do magic?"

"We thought you would never return."

"Have you traveled to the cities? Learned great things?"

As they were showering him with questions, a familiar couple arrived. "Did our daughter not come with you?"

The question hit him like a stone. His heart clenched painfully as his gaze flickered to the couple at the edge of the crowd.

The girl's parents stood there, their faces a mirror of hope. The father, once a proud and strong figure, now appeared worn, his shoulders slightly hunched under the weight of worry.

The mother clutched her shawl tightly, her lips quivering as she took a hesitant step forward.

"How is she doing? Is she safe in the city?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd. "Is she eating well?"

His throat tightened, and a heaviness settled in his chest. The truth clawed at him, sharp and unbearable, the knowledge of her fate, the otherworldly immortal that had taken her far beyond their reach. How could he tell them? How could he speak of the incomprehensible?

"She…" He forced a faint smile, his voice steady despite the storm within. "She is safe."

A collective sigh swept through the crowd. The couple visibly sagged with relief, their eyes shining with unshed tears.

An elderly villager stepped forward, his hand resting gently on the boy's shoulder. "You must be weary, boy. Come, rest. There will be time for stories later."

The villagers murmured in agreement, understanding of the boy's exhaustion.

Gradually, they began to disperse, returning to their homes with lingering smiles and quiet whispers.

The couple lingered a moment longer, searching his face for something unspoken, but finally, they nodded and turned away.

He continued down the path toward the outskirts of the village.

The way to his old home was overgrown, with tall grass brushing against his legs as he walked. When the small thatched house came into view, a pang of emotion gripped him.

It looked worn, the once sturdy beams weathered by time, but it still stood.

He reached the wooden door, which groaned loudly as he pushed it open.

The air inside was heavy, and thick with the scent of dust and age. Sunlight streamed through cracks in the walls, illuminating floating motes of dust that danced lazily in the stillness.

The room was almost exactly as he remembered.

A small wooden table sat in one corner, its surface coated in a thick layer of dust.

His father's old tools leaned against the wall, rusted but untouched.

The straw mattress of the bed sagged under its own weight, yet it remained intact, as though waiting for his return.

He stepped inside cautiously, each movement stirring faint echoes of the past. He could almost hear the laughter of his younger self mingling with hers, the two of them chasing each other around the small yard outside.

Through the open window, the forest appeared in the distance, its edge as ominous and forbidden as ever.

His fingers traced the rough wood of the doorframe, and a voice from his memories rose unbidden, stern but tinged with fear.

"Never go there."